Running The Bases
by SlimReaper
Summary: A one-shot, rated M because of reasons. Darcy visits an injured Captain America and makes him think of baseball in a whole new light! Captain America/Darcy, PWP, pointless smut, laughter's the second best medicine, don't judge me, I don't even know.
1. Running The Bases

**Just a little one-shot that popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. What would happen if Darcy caught the good Captain somewhat helpless with his inhibitions down? Hmm...!**

.

Darcy sighed as she pushed open the hospital room door. This really wasn't in her job description… only, did she actually have a job description beyond general dogsbody and gopher? So perhaps babysitting concussed superheroes actually was covered by that. All she knew was that Jane had interrupted a perfectly awesome Buffy marathon to send Darcy to keep Captain America company for a while.

Jane told her some medical mumbo-jumbo that basically boiled down to Cap not being able to take pain medication. Or more like, he could take it by the handful all day long, but his super-metabolism just plowed through it so fast it did him no good. So after the Avengers' last encounter with Loki had ended with Cap buried under half a building, he was laid up in the hospital wing of Stark Tower, suffering through fractured ribs, a concussion, whiplash, and enough bruises to take down an elephant, without anything to give him relief. "Go make him feel better," Jane had commanded, stealing the remote, and so here Darcy was.

Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, aka the pitiful-looking, incredibly buff guy in a hospital gown, looked up when she entered. "Miss Lewis–sorry that I can't get up," he said, trying a smile that didn't quite work. Annoyed or not, Darcy felt a stab of sympathy for him, trying to be so polite when he was clearly miserable. He was the only man she knew who still stood when a woman entered a room–old-fashioned, but way sweet. "What can I do for you?"

She let the door swing shut behind her and dropped her bag beside the single chair. "More like what I can do for you," she said with a sympathetic smile, her annoyance at the interruption of her Buffy marathon fading. Jane was right–the poor man looked like hell, lying propped-up on the hospital bed. Darcy was no angel of mercy, but she'd have to be dead not to feel bad for the guy. "I thought I'd try to distract you for a while, at least until they manage to cook up some kind of medicine that'll work on you."

Steve sighed, his brow furrowed with discomfort although he tried to smile again. "That's real nice of you. Thanks."

She sat down, biting her lip and wondering what to say. Until now, her interactions with him had been brief–him holding the door open for her if they passed in the hall, her mooning over him from afar, stuff like that. She'd never talked much with him and her knowledge of the 1940s was probably about on par with his knowledge of current pop culture, which left precious few conversational topics. In fact, the only thing she was sure they both knew about was Loki and all his schemes, and she was pretty sure he wouldn't be in the mood to talk about _that_ right now. "Um. So," she said, shrugging off her jacket, "whatcha wanna talk about?" She twisted to pull the jacket out from behind her.

And when she turned back around, she caught Steve staring at her chest. Really, really staring.

For a second, she froze–Captain freaking America, caught checking out her rack? That, dear friends, was _priceless_. Darcy wasn't the slightest bit offended–hell, for all her numerous insecurities, even she knew she had an outstanding set of double-Ds–but this guy, this guy was supposed to be the perfect gentleman, Mom's apple-pie and all-American values. To catch him doing something like that, well, to be honest, it was a pretty damn awesome ego boost.

Darcy pretended she hadn't noticed. And then, feeling a little wicked, she laced her fingers together and extended her arms above her head in a leisurely stretch. She actually heard the catch in his breathing as the movement pulled her already-tight blouse even tighter over her breasts, and it was all she could do not to grin. Hey, this definitely counted as distraction, right?

When she finally dropped her arms and looked at him again, his eyes were closed and he looked a bit flushed. "Baseball," he said, a bit strangled. "There's always baseball."

Darcy made a face. "Baseball's boring," she groaned, then remembered she was supposed to be cheering the guy up. She forced a smile. "But we can talk about it if you want."

He opened his eyes–startling blue, such gorgeous eyes, why had she never noticed that before? oh, right, because she was usually staring at his perfect muscles or that tight ass–and raised an eyebrow at her. "I thought you liked baseball. You're always talking to Dr. Foster about it."

Darcy frowned in genuine puzzlement. "Um. I am?" She couldn't remember _ever_ talking about baseball, to Jane or anyone else. It ranked about zero on her list of interests.

Now he looked confused, too. "Aren't you?"

She laughed. "Maybe just give me an idea what you heard and I'll be able to tell you."

He shrugged, then groaned and grimaced as the movement made his broken ribs grind–eww, she could actually _hear_ them! "Last week, I heard you telling Jane about someone running the bases," he gasped, clearly trying to keep the conversation going through his pain.

And now it was Darcy's turn to blush as she recalled telling Jane about how long it'd been since she'd had any bedroom action. "Oh._ That,"_ she said, trying desperately to think of an explanation that wouldn't kill her with embarrassment.

Steve looked over at her and–was that another glance down at her chest? Why yes, indeed it was. This time it was harder to pretend she hadn't noticed, but she managed it. Could concussions make people lose their inhibitions or something, Darcy wondered? If so, that would be in interesting concept to play with. Old-fashioned or not, Steve Rogers was panty-meltingly _hot_, and she'd been more than a little interested for quite a while now.

Needing to move, Darcy got up, dampened a washcloth at the little sink, and laid it across his forehead like she'd seen heroines do in the movies. He closed his eyes and sighed as if it really did give him some relief. "So, isn't that baseball?" he asked, still a bit pale from the burst of pain his shrug had caused.

Darcy perched carefully on the edge of his hospital bed, chewing her lip again. "Um. No," she said, and blushed harder when those intensely blue eyes opened and fixed on hers again.

"Oh," Steve replied, but he was clearly confused. "Softball?"

She stared at him. Was he for real? No one was _that_ innocent… but then again, he _had_ been frozen solid for decades and decades. Darcy watched him closely for any sign that he was messing with her. "You've never heard of the bases? Like, making out?" When he still looked blank, she rolled her eyes. "C'mon–making out, first base, second base, third base, sliding into home–running the bases. Everyone knows this!"

Steve's lips compressed and he looked away, and Darcy realized she'd actually offended him. "I know I'm behind the times," he said, and she was wrong–she hadn't offended him, she'd _hurt_ him. "Sorry."

Darcy mentally kicked herself. She'd heard Stark bitch at Barton enough times to know that Steve was really sensitive about all the things he'd missed. Barton never missed a chance to poke fun at him for being ignorant of things the rest of them took for granted. And now she'd done the same thing, and while she was supposed to be here making him feel better, too.

"Hey," she said softly, reaching out and cupping Steve's stubble-roughened cheek in one hand. He looked back at her, guarded, but he didn't pull away from her touch. "I'm the one who's sorry. That was rude of me. I'll tell you, if you want to know?" Although how she'd explain the bases to Mr. Hotty McHotness without her face catching fire from blushes was going to be interesting. But she owed him–she'd come here to make him feel better, not worse.

His hand came up and covered hers, and to her surprise, he closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against her palm. "Your skin feels so nice," he murmured, holding her hand there. "So soft and warm…" Then, as if realizing what he'd just done, he dropped his hand and looked at her in almost painful embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that."

She smiled and stroked his cheek again. "It was sweet. Don't apologize."

He shook his head, winced again, went still. "I keep saying things I don't mean to," he groused, clearly annoyed with himself. "Damn concussion."

_Ah-ha! _ So it really did lower his inhibitions! "Like that," Darcy said, astonished. "You actually just swore, Steve!"

He groaned again. "Tell me about the bases, please, before I embarrass myself further."

_Great move, Darce_, she groaned inwardly. _ No more embarrassing him, now it's time to embarrass me. _ "Okay," she agreed though, because she had promised to tell him. "Um. Okay. Ahh… you've had girlfriends, right?" she asked a little desperately, because from what she'd read about him–if comics could count as research–he really was about as innocent as they came.

He sighed, started to shrug again, but she reached out and caught his shoulders before he could do it. "Oh–thanks," he said, smiling at her for preventing him hurting himself again, but then his smile faded. "As to girlfriends… no, not really." Her jaw dropped before she could stop it. He scowled at her, defensive. "What?"

"Sorry, sorry," Darcy said, holding up her hands in a _peace_ gesture. "It's just… you're seriously hot, Steve. It's hard to believe girls weren't chasing you down the street."

And damn, he was cute as hell when he blushed like that. "Thank you for that, but no, they weren't," he muttered. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"I just need to know where to start, that's all. You _have_ been kissed, right?" Darcy pressed anyway, because if he said no, she was going to cure that little deficiency for him right here and now. She was almost disappointed when he nodded a bit defiantly. "Okay, well, there you go. Kissing is first base."

Her phone buzzed then and she dug it out of her pocket, cursing herself for not turning it off before coming in. She just hadn't expected the conversation to get this interesting. Now she turned the ringer off and dropped it into her bag because she couldn't think of what could possibly be more important than finding out all the deets on Captain America's sex life.

When she straightened up again, she found him again staring at her chest. This time, she arched her back a little, perking the girls up for him. "You're looking at second base right now," she told him, and gave him a cheeky grin when his gaze shot to hers, horrified. "It's okay," she told him before he could apologize. "I don't mind, really. You can't help but notice my epic assets. They're awesome, I know."

"God, Darcy, I… I don't know what's wrong with me," Steve groaned, covering his bright-red face with his hands. "I am so, so sorry."

She pulled his hands away from his face and didn't let go until he looked at her again. "You're being a guy," she said, still grinning because she, Darcy Lewis, nerdy uber-geek, had a real live _superhero_ this flustered! "Do you really think you're the first guy who's ever stared at my boobs?"

His eyes sharpened. "You point them out and I'll make sure they never do it again," he growled, and ooh, protective and sweet and hot and _damn_ if Darcy wasn't wanting to climb right up on the bed and show him how much she appreciated him right now.

"So have you ever been to second base, Steve?" Darcy asked, purring the question.

For a long moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then, slowly, as if knowing he'd regret this but unable to stop himself, he shook his head _no_.

And Darcy, never exactly a paragon of self-restraint herself, shoved aside the inner voice screaming she'd regret this later (why did that voice sound just like Jane?) and lifted his hands in hers. "Welcome to second base," she said, and pressed his hands to her breasts.

For a moment, Steve was frozen, not even breathing. The heat of his palms on her breasts was enough to kick her breath into double-time, as if she was breathing for them both. Then the stiffness left his fingers and he gently touched her, almost as though he was afraid of breaking her. He watched his hands, spellbound, as if hardly daring to believe what he was seeing them do. Darcy caught her breath as his fingers swept over her, then cupped her breasts, weighing them in his hands, her nipples stiff and pressing against his palms. Her lips parted and she gasped when he skated his thumbs over the hard peaks.

Steve's gaze darted to hers at the sound. She pressed her fingers to his lips, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say. "You're sure you've never done this before?" she asked a bit breathlessly. When he nodded, she smiled and pressed harder against his hands. "Because you're really, really good at it."

The hesitant look on his face slowly faded away to be replaced with a grin–a totally sexy grin, Darcy couldn't help but notice. "Really?"

He thumbed her nipples again and she moaned. "Oh yeah," she breathed.

Steve licked his lips, staring down at his hands caressing her breasts again, and Darcy couldn't tear her gaze away from the pink tip of his tongue just visible there. "We skipped first base," she said, and before he could react, she leaned down and kissed him hard.

He groaned into her mouth and that was good, and then his tongue plunged deep and that was better. His inexperience with kissing showed a little, but Darcy didn't mind–it was hot, somehow, knowing that she was teaching him. He followed her lead, picking up techniques quickly enough to leave her all but gasping–especially since his hands were still busy at her breasts. Then he pinched her nipples and she tore her mouth from his with a cry, pleasure shooting straight down between her thighs.

Instantly those magic hands were gone. "Oh geez, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" Steve asked, worry writ large on every line of his face. Darcy shook her head emphatically, too busy gulping air to speak. His brows drew together. "But… you yelled."

"Good yell," she finally gasped, and throwing all caution to the winds–not that she ever had much–she climbed up on the bed to straddle his thighs, sitting on her heels so none of her weight was on him. "Very good yell." And she caught his wrists and brought his hands back up.

Steve smiled and picked up again where he left off–damn, the guy was a natural at making out, no matter how shy he seemed–and kissed her again. Darcy sighed happily and gave herself up to it, letting her body take the lead, absolutely putty in those stunningly skilled hands of his. Bracing one hand behind his head, she used the other to unbutton her blouse and then guide his hands inside.

He groaned, then pulled away from the kiss to look at her again. Darcy was glad she'd worn a pretty bra–cream lace, very sheer, very sexy–when his lips parted and his breathing quickened still further at the sight of her. "See? I told you they were epic," she teased.

"Beautiful," he breathed, and then pressed a feather-soft kiss right over her nipple.

Darcy's head dropped back on a moan. "Yeah, like that," she said, and moaned again as his tongue flicked over the stiff little peak through the lace. "God, Steve!"

Before long, the lace cups had been nudged aside, baring her to his gaze, and then to his mouth. He used just the right amount of pressure, of teeth, of suction, clever fingers playing with her other breast, and Darcy was all but incoherent with pleasure within minutes. Her hips rocked of their own accord, meeting his erection, bringing her shockingly close to orgasm and surprising a shout from him.

Steve pulled away, breathing hard, and through her own fog of lust, Darcy saw that reason was trying to reassert itself in his eyes. "Oh, no you don't," she growled, threading a hand in his hair–carefully, though, not wanting to hurt him–and made him look at her. "You're thinking gentlemanly thoughts, but I promise you this–it is _not_ gentlemanly to get a girl into this condition and leave her hanging. I was about to come!"

Whatever he didn't know about making out, he definitely knew what _that_ meant, and he didn't resist when she tugged his head back to her. She ground against his cock again and he moaned with her, biting one nipple, pinching the other, and she came hard, moaning and shaking and almost falling off the bed with the intensity of it.

When it was over, Darcy raised her head breathlessly. "Wow, dude. You are not real," she said, and he laughed, but it sounded a bit desperate.

"Was that third base?" he asked, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and he looked so sexy there–yes, even with the damn hospital gown–that her mouth watered.

"Nope," she said, scooting off his thighs so she could sit beside him again. "I'll show _you_ third base."

And in one smooth movement, she yanked his blankets down with one hand, pushed his gown up with the other, and ignoring his shout of surprise, she licked up the throbbing pulse of his cock. _"Darcy!"_ Steve cried, shocked, almost arching off the bed, grabbing for her. "You can't–"

"Oh yeah, I definitely can," she purred, ignoring the urging of his hands in her hair and gazing admiringly at his little Captain. Yeah, _this_ was definitely superheroic. "Just you watch me."

"Darcy–"

"Seriously," she said, tearing her gaze away from his magnificence and meeting his eyes. "I want you to watch me." And before he could protest again, she engulfed the thick head of his cock in her mouth, flicked her tongue around the rim, and listened to him completely lose coherence.

His thighs were shaking within moments. He tugged at her hair, and when she ignored that, he caught her head between his hands and tried to pull her away. Ignoring that too, she suckled at his head, fisted his length in long strokes, and gloried in the way his hips involuntarily thrust. "Darcy," he groaned, her name emerging hoarse, "Darcy, you have to stop, I'm–"

She pulled away for just long enough to say, "It's okay, I don't mind if you come in my mouth," and then she swallowed him down once more.

"Oh _fuck_," Steve groaned, and that was all the warning she had before he jetted into her mouth. She moaned and swallowed, opened her eyes and saw his head thrown back and the sheer ecstasy on his face, suckled him and stroked his balls. And all the while, he kept moaning "Darcy," and "oh fuck," and never had profanity sounded sexier to her because this was _Captain America_, all-American values and apple pie, and _she'd_ brought him to this.

When it was over, Darcy gave him one last long, appreciative lick–oh, how he shuddered–and then gently drew his hospital gown back down. _"That's_ third base," she said with pure satisfaction, memorizing his stunned and utterly sated expression. She leaned up, blouse still open, and pressed a chaste, closed-mouthed kiss to his lips. "When you're all healed up, you can try sliding into home plate."

Steve wrapped his arms around her when she would've pulled away. "Stay," he murmured, shifting over so she could lie beside him.

Darcy smiled and cuddled carefully beside him, basking in the afterglow. "For future reference," she said, closing her eyes, inhaling his scent, "I was wrong. Baseball is so not boring."

He chuckled. "Not the way you play it," he agreed.

.

**... yeah, I know I shouldn't have. But the thought came to me and I just couldn't resist it. Review if you liked it! ^_^**


	2. Author's Note

YOU PEOPLE WORE ME DOWN. I wrote a follow-up. There will be one more. AND I BLAME ALL OF YOU FOR EVERYTHING. Nothing that follows is my fault, I tell you. NOTHING!

(it's called Batter Up! because of baseball, of course.)


End file.
